Emerald (8 page)

A middle-aged, heavy-set woman appeared through the door at the opposite end of the rug path. She wore a stern look on her face that matched her attire: a baggy brown sweater, tweed skirt, opaque stockings and flat walking shoes. As soon as she realized that she was not alone in the room she stopped, startled.

“Pouvoir je vous aide?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak French,” Hans replied. “English, please, or German, if you wish”

In a sarcastic voice, she replied, “But of course, I’m sorry. I thought you were Swiss. May I help you?”

“I’m here to speak to the director about the upcoming auction.”

“He’s occupied in his office. Perhaps I can help you. What is your name?”

“I am Klaus Dohring.” He gave no more information than necessary.

“Mr. Dohring, nice to meet you.” She shook hands with Hans, thinking he was very strong for one who appeared to be so old. She guessed sixties. She noticed the shine on his shoes. He did not look wealthy though, because his hands did not look manicured.

“And how may I help you, sir?”

“I am interested in learning how your auctions operate. Perhaps you could be so kind as to explain them to me. I may have some things to offer. Also I may be interested in purchasing some jewels for my collection.”

“Of course, I have a pamphlet that will cover most of the basic questions.” She walked back to the table and shuffled through the papers spread across its surface, finally drawing forth the pamphlet, handing it to Hans.

He glanced over it, but nothing struck him, as pertinent to his search.

“What I am most interested in are the jewels in your auctions. Do you have any auctions coming up soon?”

“Why yes, tomorrow, in fact. However, I do not believe that there are any jewels or jewelry in that one. If you are interested, all of our auctions are held at the Hotel Richmonde. Let me get you a catalogue of tomorrow’s offerings.” She retrieved a brochure from the table and waited while he looked it over, noting how young his hands looked, and somewhat dirty.

“If you don’t mind me asking, my dear lady, since you’ve been so kind, how can one learn when a particular jewel that is not on the current program might be offered…a jewel such as a ruby or diamond or emerald…for my collection, you understand?”

“Most jewels are offered privately, sir. You would have to have an invitation for those auctions, that is, if you are speaking of something very valuable…over a million.”

“I would be very interested to get an invitation to such auctions.”

“At this time, there are none scheduled. Could you give me your telephone number? I can call you.”

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you for your kindness, and, may I add, for your pleasant company. What did you say your name was?”

“Emily, Emily Muller.”

“And you may please call me Klaus. Good day, Emily.” Hans walked away from the old bag, hoping his flattery would leave the door open for another visit should he not find out what he needed from the pamphlet.

However, after reading it, he learned that all the gems Christie have offered for auctions were usually held at the Bank du Mont Blanc to insure their safety, before the auction, which was always held at the Four Seasons Hotel des Bergues.
So that’s where his beloved emerald must be
.

Leaving Christies, Hans took the Map of Geneva out of his pocket and standing under the shade of the awning of the small grocery next door found the street Quai des Bergues at the north end of the bridge over the Rhone River. The morning was pleasant, yet not too hot, and he decided instead of hailing a cab, to walk the five or six blocks to the bank. He felt good this morning and had a keen sense that his stone was close at hand. A plan began to form as he walked toward the river bridge.
If I can get this Mr. Brunstein to show me the emerald, why not just steal it then and there. If I have to kill him, so be it. Probably would be simple just to walk out of the bank and disappear before anyone would notice. Let’s not be too hasty. We need to check the layout of the bank first
.

He pulled his hat down further and turned to look in a jewelry store window as a police man walked toward him and passed without notice. Hans trudged on. As he crossed the Mont-Blanc Bridge he marveled at the towering plume of water in the lake to his right. Stopping to read the bronze plaque on the wall of the bridge he read that it was called the Jet d’ Eau and it was the highest fountain in the world, reaching almost 500 feet into the air.

At the end of the bridge he turned right and walked along a street bordering the river. Facing the river were tall granite buildings, similar in size yet each scratching its own character with different columns, arches, cantilevers and massive windows. Each bank had a quite similar brass name plaque, polished to a dazzling shine. Their windows shaded to block the sun and glare from the water, yet indicating a careful guarding of assets within. The second building indicated Han’s destination and he walked up the granite steps where a uniformed doorman pushed open the massive bronze door and ushered him inside.

He walked across the highly polished marble floor to a desk beside a sign “
Informations
.” A middle aged, balding man in a dark pin-striped suit, black tie tightly knotted, took off his glasses and asked, “May I help you sir?”

“I would like to speak with Herr Brunstein please.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I have been sent here by Christies to talk about one of their auctions.”

“If you would have a seat there, I will ring Herr Brunstein and see if he is free. Who should say is calling?”

Lifting his head slightly Hans replied with a slight accent, “Klaus Dohring.”

While the clerk picked up the telephone on his desk, Hans sat in the stiff-backed chair and took careful note of the interior of the bank and noticed that the doorman constituted the only observable guard, if you could call him that, he could see.

“Sir, Mr. Brunstein will have just a few minutes to see you now. If you would take the elevator over there to the second floor, Mr. Brunstein’s secretary will be waiting for you.”

The heavy-set man looked up from his ornate desk, put his glasses down and said, “Herr Dohring, I presume. Won’t you please to sit down? How may I help you?”

“I am a collector of fine jewels, a hobby and an investment, I might add. I have just been told by fräulein Muller, of Christies, that there is to be an auction soon of a rather well known Emerald that I have had my eye on for some time now. I was wondering if you could tell me when this emerald is to go up for auction, and if I might see this gem in person, just to make sure you understand that it is the stone I am interested in.”

“And which emerald is it you are interested in, Herr Dohring?”

“It has been known as the Wittelsbach Emerald ever since the 17
^th
century when Philip IV of Spain gave it to Margareta Teresa as part of her dowry when she married Leopold I of Austria. I have loved this magnificent gem ever since I first saw it and not that it may be on the auction block - - - well, I would move heaven and earth to have it in my collection.”

“I understand your desire to purchase this emerald for your collection, but Sir, we have a problem. It has been brought to my attention by the authorities that the owners of this gem have tragedy died, and so the courts must determine if there are any heirs for their estate. Until these legal matters have been decided this Wittelsbach emerald will have to remain in our custody until it is released by the courts. I hope you understand?”

Trying to reign in his anger, Hans said sharply, “This is a severe personal blow to me, however I completely understand. Do you have any information as to the length of this delay?”

“Not really Herr Dohring. It could be a few weeks or a few months, but if you would be so kind as to give me your address, I will certainly inform you of the results.”

Quickly standing, Hans said, “That won’t be necessary. I’ll deal directly with Christies from now on.” Without another word he left the astonished banker.

After speaking to a monsieur Brunstein at the bank where Christie’s auction jewels were kept, what infuriated Hans the most was learning that killing the Klein’s might actually keep him from getting the emerald. How could he have known? It was insane, but true. Brunstein told him that the stone was waiting a disclosure on its disposition while lawyers looked for a will and searched for heirs of the couple. Hans knew, despite his skill, that robbing a major bank vault was out of the question. In addition, he knew of none of his friends in Berlin had such abilities either. All his Nazi friends were into the more bloody pursuits. They did not take on that type of highly thought-out scheme. Now he must wait to avenge his father and reclaim his inheritance. How long, he had no idea. And the bank had no idea either. His fury flared again just thinking about this frustrating development.

“G
ood work, you two,” Levi said on Wednesday when he met with David and Miriam again, “Thanks for getting this material to me before the weekend. I had time to go over it and it looks like we now have what we need to begin to search for this killer in Geneva. I don’t know how you did it, but this computer-aged photo will scare the crap out of our man, if he’s the one. How did you get it?” Miriam responded, “Malcolm found an old photo of Hans Huber’s son that was taken during the Eichmann capture in the 60’s, and with help of a computer whiz downstairs age-enhanced it, viola - - - there it is. It’s not perfect, but should greatly help us with our search.”

“I just hope the newspapers don’t get hold of it and print it to scare our man off. It will be a great help. Now go home and pack your bags because you’re flying to Geneva tomorrow.”

Levi handed David two El AL packets of tickets.

“There should be enough Swiss francs there also in there, that is unless you really think you’re on a vacation. The flight leaves at 3:05 p.m. Let’s us see how this works out for all of us.”

David looked at Levi and enquired, “I hate to seem dumb, but how are we supposed to find one person in a city as big as Geneva?”

“You’re not dumb at all and I’m glad you asked. One, you’ve got that photo and two, you should check in right away with Inspector Piet Servette of the Geneva Police. Piet and I are old fiends. I have already told him that you are on your way and he will give you all the assistance you need.” And with a sly smile, Levi said, “Oh, by the way, you have flight and hotel reservations under the name of Mr. and Mrs. David Cohen. That should be you starting point. Check in with an Inspector Servette of the Geneva Police as soon as you can and it would be a good idea to keep me informed also,” Levi remarked as he ushered the duo toward the door.

In the parking garage, just before they turned to their own cars Miriam commented, “Bossy and precise, isn’t he?”

David looked at Miriam and said, “We lucked out, Miriam. He leaves us our freedom to get the job done. Want to go to dinner tonight?” He said over his shoulder as he walked towards his Jeep.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” She laughed and responded. “I have fourteen suitcases to pack before we fly to Switzerland, in less than twenty-four hours.”